Page 6 of Champagne Kisses
“You are tenacious, Ms. Maya, but there’s no way I can engrave all those delicate glasses—you know I’ll likely break a few in the process—in two weeks. Not if we have to ship them too.” Did Jerry just give me a glimmer of hope?! I start pacing again, faster than before.
“So you could do it if wedon’thave to ship them?“ I hold my breath and silently pray that puppy dog eyes work over the phone. I slow my pacing while I listen for Jerry’s answer.
“Well…I guess if you don’t have to ship them, I could finish them by the 26th.” I let out a victorious yelp before he continues. “But does that mean you’re going to drive them up yourself?” Jerry’s skepticism comes through loud and clear. Hand delivering orders is hardly part of my business model, but this one is clearly for a wedding and I tend to go above and beyond for a couple’s special day. I’m a true romantic. Based on my Tinder activity, we’re a dying breed, at least in the Tri-State area.
“Yeah, Jer. I don’t think I have a choice. But hey, I’ll make a weekend of it. I haven’t been to Cape Cod in maybe…five years?”
“Ok…” he says hesitantly. “My work load isn’t too crazy right now. If you’re going to drive them, two weeks might be enough time.”
“Thank you so, so,somuch for making this work,“ I practically shriek. He didn’t guarantee the timeline, but that was good enough for me in my desperate state. “I promise this will be the last rush order until Rico is back.”
“OK, Ms. Maya. Like I said, I’ll do my best,” Jerry says, sounding a bit resigned. I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’tlovehow he didn’t actually commit to a date, but he’s also yet to let me down. He’s earned the benefit of the doubt. Before disconnecting the call, I ask him to give progress updates as he goes.
I droop against the counter, a little out of breath from pacing so hard. The galette is probably cool enough to eat now, and I’ve worked up an appetite. I cut a generous slice and swat Khan off the counter before he steps a curious paw into my dessert.
I adopted Khan two years ago when my best girlfriend, Denise, moved to an apartment that doesn’t allow pets. Big dogs or loud, yapping dogs, I could understand, but how can a landlord say you can’t have cats? How would you even enforce that? Either way, Denise hadn’t wanted to risk it.
Before Khan, I never bothered with animals of any kind. It was partly because I didn’t want to have to worry about a ding against me in New York’s cutthroat apartment scene, partly because pet food is yet another expense, and partly because I worried about getting attached to something that could be gone in a few years. Especially cats, who barely act like they like you most of the time. Before this fluff butt landed in my lap, I thought I was OK on my own.
I fell in love with him as soon as Denise brought him over, of course. Apparently I’d just been depriving myself of the cutest and cheapest therapy available considering my dismal insurance. Though Khan weighs just ten pounds and two thirds of that has got to be hair, –long, black strands which he leaves all over my apartment– he still eats like a giant panther. Lucky for him, I’m willing to pay for purrs and head butts with kitty snacks and premium wet food.
“Sorry, Khan, but mama earned this one. I’ll get you some salmon.” I reach on top of the fridge for his food and get acan opener from the drawer. One whiff of the salmon pâté and Khan attacks his bowl before I can even get my hand out of the way. If only all men were so easy to please.
I grab a fork from the still open drawer and knock it closed with my hips before settling on the futon next to my craft area. The futon, a small ottoman, and my TV are the only parts of my living room that haven’t been swallowed up by my growing craft area. I guess that means business is good!
The first bite of warm peach and buttery pastry hits my tongue and I hum in appreciation. Most people think the secret ingredient is nutmeg but I also add a pinch of cardamom for more complexity. It’s not in the recipe, but I prefer to get the basics down and then let improvisation make it great. Nothing rounds out a productive day like a fresh baked dessert.
I take another bite and stare wistfully out the kitchen window. When my grandma passed, I made it my mission to make every recipe in her favorite cookbook as a way to feel close to her. It was a 400-page monster of a book focusing on pastries and bread. Two years later, I finished the book and just kept cooking, clearly addicted. It’s now on my always-growing list of hobbies. I’ve probably made this particular galette at least four times, tweaking the spices until I get it perfect. No doubt my cooking crusade is to blame for my sizable booty, thick thighs, and soft tummy, but if the perfect body means giving up dessert, go ahead and call me “Precious”.
I giggle to myself at my silliness and pull my computer into my lap. Score! The buyer is online. I open a chat window and hope this Adam guy is understanding.
APark644
It’s_Personal:Hello, Mr. Park.
APark644:Hello. Who is this?
It’s_Personal:My name is Maya Davis. I’m reaching out from It’s Personal. You just purchased the champagne flutes for Bryan and Jessi right?
APark644:Yeah, that’s me. Wow, I didn’t realize the site had a chat feature.
It’s_Personal:Yes. I hope it’s OK I reached out to you.
APark644:It’s cool. What’s up?
It’s_Personal:Unfortunately, due to an error with the site's messaging system, you weren’t notified that there is a delay for all engraved items from It's Personal.
APark644:Damn. Do I need to cancel myorder?
The back of my neck suddenly feels clammy.Damn, stupid messaging system!I allow myself two seconds of panic before taking a deep breath and refocusing on potential solutions.
It’s_Personal:Hopefully you don’t need to cancel. Is there any flexibility in your dates?
APark644:The event is the evening of June 28th.
It’s_Personal:Oh, OK. So no flexibility at all.
APark644:No, sorry.
